


Heart's Home

by jaskiersvalley (connorssock)



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Homeless Jaskier, Homelessness, Lies and Truths, M/M, Mild Angst
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-11
Updated: 2020-04-11
Packaged: 2021-03-01 23:22:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,164
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23595280
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/connorssock/pseuds/jaskiersvalley
Summary: A lot of things about Jaskier either didn't add up or were inconsistent but Geralt never really paid it much attention. At least, not until a harsh winter was upon them and he had to confront reality.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 17
Kudos: 550





	Heart's Home

It wasn’t often that Geralt spent a lot of time thinking about other people beyond what they had to offer him. But there was something that really bugged him about Jaskier. They had been travelling together for years now and there was just some things that didn’t add up. For one, Geralt didn’t know where he was from, a single name of ‘Jaskier’ didn’t give any indication of identity. However, he seemed educated, claimed to have studied at Oxenfurt, had a knack for talking himself into and out of situations, knew how to brawl like any commoner, and his fingers were as light as any commendable petty thief’s. In short, he made for a curious conundrum of contradictions.

There were other things about him that bothered Geralt. Whenever they met up, Jaskier always looked skinnier somehow, already road worn and ready to drop everything in the name of an adventure. He moaned worse than a whore when presented with a bed for the night but didn’t grumble in the slightest when they slept on the hard, cold ground in some woods or other. And as much as Jaskier seemed to love the sound of his voice, not once did he whine or pester when food wasn’t as filling or as frequent as hoped for. Rain, storms, sweltering heat, he bore it all, fussing over his lute not getting ruined even if he never seemed to have the right clothes for the weather. He was adorned in the finest robes which he took meticulous care of. But not once had Geralt seen him in something suitable for travelling. No, Jaskier was always dressed as though he was about to perform in the finest court and nothing less.

Other, smaller things wouldn’t have made Geralt think twice usually, but when it came to Jaskier, he began to pay more attention. Namely, on all his travels, Geralt hadn’t even heard of Countess de Stael. Admittedly, it wasn’t unusual, he didn’t meddle or revel in the affairs of humans but no matter who he asked, she seemed as elusive as a fart in a sieve.

He and Jaskier had been parted for a good month now, Geralt off on a contract too dangerous and boring for a bard to accompany him. So he’d left Jaskier in a tavern and set off early one morning, confident that they would cross paths again soon. Except, they didn’t. Geralt kept taking contracts, traversing the continent as The Path took him. If he added a few twists to it, trying to return to places he’d heard Jaskier sing about, that was nobody’s business.

As it always was, Geralt’s luck changed when he stopped looking for Jaskier. He had shuffled into an inn, hood up to protect against the snow, on his way to Kaer Morhen for the winter. It had set in early and was going to be a bitter one. As luck would have it, the tavern also happened to be the very one Jaskier was singing his heart out at. He looked more gaunt, his doublet was loose on him and Geralt frowned. Obviously the last month hadn’t been kind to Jaskier. It made Geralt think of all the times they’d spent together, coming back after a spell apart. Where he could press kisses to Jaskier’s collarbone and feel his ribs under his skin. It seemed their reunion was going to be akin to those once more. Gentle because Geralt worried about how fragile Jaskier had become without a soft layer of fat to keep him whole.

Quietly, Geralt settled in the darkest corner, content to just watch Jaskier perform. The patrons of the tavern weren’t most forthcoming with their coin even as Jaskier obviously put his whole self into the performance. It was a rarity, to watch Jaskier without the bard knowing Geralt was watching - those times he would add in extra winks or draw attention to the witcher as he sang ‘Toss A Coin’. What was good to note was the empty plate and the tankard by the lute’s case. Obviously Jaskier had gotten a good meal in exchange of his performance.

The singing ended, there was a smattering of applause and Jaskier collected a measly load of coins for his efforts. Packing his lute away, he sidled up to the counter and Geralt watched him wave his coin purse, trying to sweet talk his way into something from the innkeeper. However, his efforts were wasted, a firm shake of head had Jaskier glancing towards the door of the inn with a worried frown. One more try but he was quickly refused. Geralt got to watch as Jaskier walked to the door, obviously steeled himself and stepped out into the blizzard without a cloak or anything else.

“What did the bard want?” Geralt asked the barkeeper as he returned his tankard.

“Cheeky sod wanted to pay less than half the going rate for a room. After he’d already gotten a cheap meal and drink in exchange for a place to play.

Curious. Geralt wondered why Jaskier would try such a ploy, he usually wasn’t one to try and cheat his way out of an honest fare. And Geralt knew that the prices of the tavern weren’t eye watering, he’d paid for a room himself. Intrigue got the better of him and, once against pulling his cloak up, Geralt stepped out into the blizzard. It was coming down hard now, no doubt by the morning it would be a white blanket covering the village.

Tracking Jaskier down wasn’t difficult, Geralt could follow the familiar footsteps in the snow and also follow the wafting scent. If he had been one for guessing, he would have thought that Jaskier was walking idly, taking turns at random. So engrossed in his determination to not guess, Geralt almost missed the fact that the trail stopped.

There, on the stoop of a pigsty, a figure was huddled down, obviously trying to stay out of the worst of the snow but a lute propped into the deepest recess left a doublet covered back exposed to the elements. Quietly, Geralt approached, stepping over the fence to get to Jaskier. He laid a hand on a thin shoulder.

“Fuck off!” The snarled words were ferocious and met with a dagger pointing at Geralt. “Oh, it’s you!”

The words were so sunny, Jaskier seemingly changing in the blink of an eye to his usual happy self.

“What are you doing here?” Geralt asked, trying to figure out why Jaskier would be huddling on a pigsty’s stoop of all places. As if he had nowhere better to bed down for the night like some vagrant. The notion of that niggled at Geralt but he brushed it aside.

“I was just taking a nap! Been playing to a huge crowd of adoring fans this evening. My walk to my dear Carlita’s home is exhausting so I found a spot to rest before continuing to her stately home.” If Geralt hadn’t been at the inn, he would have even believed Jaskier. However, he’d seen the lacklustre crowd and couldn’t think of a single stately home in the area. Which meant Jaskier was lying to him. But why? Before he could ask, Jaskier was struggling to rise to his feet and making a show of stretching. “But, my darling witcher, if adventure calls, I shall let my beloved Carlita down and join you. It has been too long since we hit the road. Tell me, have you a bed at a tavern for the night?”

Allowing Jaskier to save face for now, Geralt only nodded and led the way back to the tavern they had left. The barkeep gave then a sneering look but didn’t say anything as witcher and bard walked up the stairs to the room they were now going to share. Getting ready for the night, Jaskier kept up a constant stream of chatter, detailing the last month and his great successes. However, Geralt wasn’t paying him much attention. Well, not his words at least. He could see things on Jaskier that were contradicting his great tales of banquets and standing ovations. The doublet he wore was getting a little threadbare, there were a few expertly hidden lines where tears had been mended. There was an air of weariness to Jaskier, as if he hadn’t been sleeping well of late and it compounded the visible weight loss. Even worse, there was no pack, no bag beyond a small satchel he’d deposited on the floor that couldn’t possibly contain more than maybe a single change of clothes which wouldn’t be thick enough to repel the cold of winter.

“I’m going to Kaer Morhen for the winter,” Geralt interrupted. “Where will you go?”

That brought Jaskier up short, his smile was still in place but it looked fragile.

“Are bards not welcome in Kaer Morhen? Am I not to adventure with you?” For the first time, Geralt smelled fear on Jaskier. And, like an intricate lock, all the pieces fell into place, the puzzle now a complete picture.

“You’re homeless.”

The scoff Jaskier sent his way was a worthy attempt at scorn but Geralt could see through it.

“You dare besmirch my good name?” Jaskier rallied, pulling himself up to his full height.

“I dare say the truth.” Because there was no doubt about it. No other explanation fit the evidence so well. They stared at each other, a silent game of waiting for the other to blink until Jaskier deflated.

“So, my plans for the winter weren’t as fruitful as hoped. Don’t suppose you could put in a good word for me at Kaer Morhen? I’ll sing for my keep and do whatever else I can.”

Defeat was not a good look on Jaskier. But before Geralt could promise such things, he needed the truth, from Jaskier himself rather than cobbled together assumptions and guesswork.

Haltingly, it all came out. Jaskier, or rather, Julian Alfred Pankratz, disowned son of the Viscount de Lettenhove ran away at the tender age of 17 to avoid an unfavourable marriage. Cut off from the family fortune, he made his way to Oxenfurt where, out of boredom and for lack of anything else to do, he sneaked into lectures. It was Valdo Marx who caught him and had him thrown out after 4 years of Jaskier doing that. He’d amassed enough knowledge in that time to be able to pass himself as a bard. And he had all the flourish of an Oxenfurt graduate so he told people he’d studied there. Technically, he had but not officially. Not that anyone ever bothered to check.

Jaskier learned the hard way about fighting, haggling, stealing. In order to keep up his appearances of a court bard, his money almost always went on clothes befitting someone of his assumed station. It left very little in the way of clothes to travel in, or a horse to help his journeys.

The Countess de Stael was someone he had made up. It made people see him as more desirable if it sounded like Jaskier was going to return to the court of some noblewoman, the pay was increased to entice him to stay. Meeting Geralt had been a stroke of luck, the witcher capable of feeding two on travels and was always prepared to share a bed for the night. Not that Jaskier was trying to use him, he had tried to pay for his fair share whenever he could. But coin was sparse. The times Geralt left him, Jaskier wandered aimlessly from town to town, trying to earn enough coin to survive. Sometimes, for the winter, a nobleman would take him in and Jaskier could sing and work in the kitchen in exchange for a room.

“No noble wanted you?” Geralt asked, not mincing his words.

“Not this year,” Jaskier admitted and silence stretched between them. They both knew that it was likely Jaskier wouldn’t survive the harsh winter without a benefactor. Crowds were less generous with their coin during winters, saving everything they could in case the cold months stretched out. And Jaskier, without an income, would have slept on the streets, getting ill which meant no playing and no coin. It was a rapid downward spiral that didn’t have a happy ending.

“Kaer Morhen will welcome you, on one condition.” Geralt held up a hand to keep Jaskier’s grateful enthusiasm in check. “You must promise me that you’ll repay their hospitality by keeping me company on The Path.”

It wasn’t payment as such, they both knew it. Geralt was giving Jaskier a permanent source of security. It probably wasn’t much but it was more than he had before.

Graciously nodding, Jaskier smiled as he settled across Geralt’s lap, basking in the heat the witcher exuded.

“I think I can be your barker, it seems like a fair price.” He leaned in for a kiss and, once again, it felt like coming home but for good this time.

**Author's Note:**

> More short stories over on tumblr - @jaskiersvalley.


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